


Ownership

by Occasionally



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Eventual Smut, F/M, Rumbelle - Freeform, Slavery, be kind, first fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-05-17 17:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5879272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Occasionally/pseuds/Occasionally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where humans are brought and sold as 'servers'. Mr Gold purchases a beautiful server called Belle, but as her past catches up with her he is forced to confront his developing feelings that stretch far beyond 'master' and 'slave'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gold at the restaurant

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fic, so please be kind!

He found her in the library. He wanted to tell her not to get up, but as soon as she spotted him in the doorway she placed her book by her side and slid gracefully from the couch into a kneeling position, smiling like she was pleased to see him. Her auburn curls cascaded around her shoulders, her pale skin glowing in the afternoon sunlight that flooded the room. 

'I need to meet a business colleague this evening, I thought we would go to La Pearl' he said.

'Of course' she smiled, her eyes shining in anticipation.

He had thought that she would hate the restaurant, normally a trip out to eat would mean a break for a server, but the restaurant's unique policy meant she had to work as hard as at any other meal. The first time they went it had been at his colleague's insistence, he would have chosen somewhere where she could have knelt at his feet, being fed choice tidbits from his plate. But she hadn't seemed to mind, in fact when he next mentioned wanting to eat out somewhere, she had suggested they return to La Pearl. 

Perhaps her smiles, like the one she gave him from her position on the rug, where all lies. Perhaps she was a better actress than he gave her credit for. She made it so easy to pretend that she enjoyed his company, that she found his stories interesting. 

But of course that wasn't the case, she had no other choice, she was bound to please him, forced to obey his every whim. Had she not been a server, she would never give him a second glance. She was young and beautiful, he old and crippled. The restaurant gave her a chance to escape even for a few short hours. And poor girl, she deserved it. Her act was flawless, he never caught even the smallest hint of disgust when she looked at him. Let her have her break if it meant she could keep up her act for a little longer.

'When do we leave, sir?' She asked.

'The car will come at 7pm'

'If you don't need anything, I will go and get ready?' He could feel her excitement radiating.

'Of course' he stood aside from his position at the doorway inviting her to leave.

She got to her feet and collected her book.

'What would you like me to wear?' She asked, clutching the book to her chest like a precious child.

'Anything you like' he didn't care for the fashion of dressing up servers like puppets or dolls. He made sure her wardrobe was stocked with the finest garments, but otherwise paid little attention to the way she dressed. Provided she knew where they were going, she always managed to find an outfit that was appropriate to the situation. She had been well trained.

She smiled and nodded, sweeping past him to get to the stairs. Even with a foot of space between them he felt his breath hitch as he caught a whiff of her scent, spicy and fresh. He turned to watch her run up the stairs, almost bouncing in anticipation. She was so relentlessly cheerful, it was infectious. He found his own face stretching into a rare smile as she disappeared into her room. She was happy, and that pleased him.

****

'We're going out'

Cillian had crashed into his room, and now lay sprawled on his narrow bed.

'I've got work to do' Gaston replied, turning back to his desk and the pile of books that lay upon it.

'And you can do it tomorrow. Come on, you have to come, David invited us.' He said it in such a way as to suggest that turning down David would be a grave mistake. And true, friendship with David opened a lot of doors to exclusive parties, and elegant gatherings, but Gaston found that those sorts of things held very little appeal these days.

'He's taking us to this new restaurant, down in London. La Pearl?'

Gaston shrugged.

'You must have heard of it, it's really famous!'

'Nope.' He tried to focus on the words before him, the tables of Latin grammar blurring into a ugly lump on the page.

'Gaston.' Cillian waited until Gaston sighed and turned again in his chair. 'I really think you should come. You've been so down this term, where have you really been apart from here and the faculty?'

'The library?' Gaston offered

'That proves my point! Please come.'

Gaston found he didn't really have the strength to argue.

'Okay, fine.' 

'Awesome!' Cillian leapt to his feet. 'Dress up sharp boy, we are dining with the A list!' 

His smile was infectious.

*****  
As she should, she was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs at five to seven. She had chosen a dark blue dress that brought out the colour of her eyes. The dress was conservative, with a shallow neckline and half sleeves, but to his eyes, she looked absolutely stunning. He wanted to tell her, but would she appreciate the compliment?

He was distracted by a discreet buzz from the mobile phone in his jacket pocket. Their car had arrived. She waited patiently as he locked the front door behind them and followed him down the steps to the waiting car, a sleek black model.

The driver held the door open for him, then retired to his seat as she climbed in behind him. She pulled the car door closed and then made to fold out the server seat, facing towards him. While his seat was the finest padded leather, hers was hard plastic.

'No, sit by me.'

He caught the driver's surprised look in the rear view mirror and he sent him a scowl to remind him to mind his own business.

She took him literally, taking the middle seat so that her bare leg rested up against the fabric of his trousers. She relaxed into the soft seat. He resisted the urge to place his hand on the milky white flesh of her thigh. He could do it, she wasn't allowed to resist, and that fact kept his hands clenched firmly in his lap.

They travelled in silence. She wouldn't initiate a conversation without his permission, and with the driver's curious eyes still flashing towards them he didn't feel much like talking.

They'd been driving for about twenty minutes, the large detached houses giving way to built up office blocks and apartment buildings, when the traffic began to slow. He could see floodlights and blue lights flashing up ahead.

'It's an identity checkpoint, sir.' The driver informed him as a uniformed officer gestured for them to pull into the side of the road.

Of course he'd been following the news. He knew that these checkpoints were becoming more common, trying to crack down on the high rates of illegal server trading.

An officer opened the car door and shone a light into the vechile catching her right in the face and making her squint.

'Step out of the vechile.' The officer commanded.

She followed his order immediately. He made to follow her.

'No, you can stay put sir, I just need your identity card.'

He ignored him, following her out of the car. Despite the law, he didn't trust the officers to treat her with care and he wanted to keep her in his line of sight. A second officer directed her to stand against the front passenger door. Her face was calm, but he could tell by her clenched fists that she was uneasy with the officer's proximity.

He fumbled for his wallet, wanting to get the check over with quickly so she could return to his side in the car.

He knew the process of the identity check, they had gone through something similar when they had gone through customs on their trip to New York the previous month. The officer scanned the chip on his identity card with a handheld computer. This would give not only his details, but also the details of any servers in his possession. This would then be cross checked with a verbal conformation of her server number and a visual check of the tattoo on her left arm. 

The second officer gripped her forearm. In the harsh floodlights he could see his tattoo marking the inner arm by her elbow, a spinning wheel crossed with a dagger, a testament to his family's past in tailoring. Below it were two patches of scar tissue where the tags of her two previous owners had been burned away when she changed hands. He hated seeing the marks on her otherwise smooth skin.

'Server number?' He barked

'798153' she answered carefully.

'Given designation?'

'Belle' she whispered

The officer then took an unfamiliar instrument and held it against her arm next to the tattoo. She couldn't stifle the gasp that escaped her lips as the instrument made a harsh click and the officer withdrew leaving a trail of blood dripping down her arm.

'Hey!' He shouted

'Sorry sir,' the first officer replied 'new protocol, we have to take a DNA sample to confirm her identity. There are a lot of criminals out there, and tattoos can be faked.' 

She stood there gripping her arm. Her face still a mask.

'Are we done?' He snapped angrily

The evil machine flashed green. 

'Identity confirmed' the officer acknowledged. 

He snatched back his ID card and motioned for her to get back into the car. As he slid back into place beside her and the driver pulled the car back into the stream of traffic he could feel her trembling.

'Are you ok?' He asked gently. He wanted so desperately to reach for her, to comfort her in his arms.

'Yes sir.' She whispered, her voice not quite steady. She paused and then offered 'I've always hated needles.'

He flashed back to her lying on the table, her eyes screwed shut as the tattooist worked on her arm. He felt sick to his stomach.

'I'm sorry' 

She looked at him like she didn't understand what he had said. 

'I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to show you up.'

'You didn't.' He said firmly. He reached into his top pocket to withdraw his silk handkerchief and watching her face carefully to gage her reaction he gently gripped her arm and mopped up the congealing blood.

'Thank you sir' she breathed as he finished. The trembling seemed to have stopped, her breathing returning to a steady pace. She managed a smile.

She was a marvel. 

****

By the time the car dropped them off outside of the restaurant, she seemed completely recovered. She followed politely behind him, but he could feel the spring in her step. She was excited to be here.

A large ornate arch separated the entry for the main restaurant, they stood under it as a smartly dressed man checked their reservation.

'May I ask if you have dined at La Pearl before?' He asked, crossing Gold's name from the list.

'We have' he replied.

'And your server is confident of the procedures?'

La Pearl was the first restaurant of its kind. While it was fairly common for servers to take on the role of waiting staff at high end restaurants, those servers would belong to the restaurant's owner. La Pearl was different as guests were waited on by their own servers, who were responsible for taking orders, collecting food from the kitchen and clearing. This generally was not a huge deal as most servers would perform this role at home, however in a restaurant setting this policy meant that it was ensured that only a high class of customers and their guests could use the facility. If a table had less than one server per four guests they wouldn't be seated. It also ensured a higher degree of privacy in a public setting. Only a person's server would approach the table, thus any private affairs or business deals conducted over the meal would not be overheard by anyone. In the 12 months since it had opened, empires has been shattered, alliances cemented, and a large number of marriage vows broken over the crisp linen tablecloths.

Gold indicated that Belle should answer for herself. She looked surprised but answered happily 'yes, I know what to do.'

'You are at table 11.' The maitre'd finished handing Belle two menus in burgundy leather covers.

It was a rare occasion, but Belle walked in front of him to the table, leading the way as she had learnt the table numbers on one of their previous visits. He took the opportunity to admire how her chestnut curls cascaded down her back. She weaved confidently through the tables to a spot close to the centre directly below a large glass cupola showing the inky black sky. She pulled out one of the ornate chairs to let him sit down and then laid a creamy white napkin on his lap, her hand gently touching his thigh as she leant over. The casual touch sent a thrill down his spine, but she seemed not to notice. 

'I'll get the wine list' she grinned at him and bounded away without waiting for permission.

It took her a short while to return, probably longer than necessary, but Gold chose not to comment. She handed him the wine list, long and thin and covered in the same burgundy leather as the menu he had yet to open.

She stood carefully to the side of the table awaiting instructions, it made Gold feel awkward.

'Nottingham is always late, sit with me for a while.'

'Yes sir' she sank easily to her knees beside him, hands clasped in her lap. 

He pictured her, sitting in the chair across from him, her eyes shining in the candle light, perhaps reaching across for his hand. But of course that could never be. He allowed himself to reach out, carding his fingers through her impossibly soft hair as she perched beside him. He must have imagined that she leant in to the touch. He felt terribly sad. He opened the wine list by way of distraction.

'What would you recommend?' He asked her, scanning the list. He'd been impressed with her knowledge of wine, but had never asked how she had learnt about it. He doubted it was with Midas, her training there would have been for a very different line of work.

'Well looking at the menu, I would guess you will probably go for the Dover Sole. In which case you'll want something light to compliment the fish. Perhaps the Argentinian Sauvignon Blanc?'

'Very good' he praised, having just decided on the wine himself. She smiled up at him.

A thought occurred to him and he couldn't resist asking 'what would you order from the menu, if you could?' She of course ate anything that he offered her, and politely never showed any preference, but he was curious.

'Probably the risotto, the freshness of the pea shoots should cut through the ricotta nicely. That would go well with the wine as well' Her comment surprised him, it was almost as if she too was imagining them sharing a meal together.

Servers were provided with a simple meal in the kitchen while their owners ate in the restaurant. It wouldn't be anything off the menu though. Gold was wondering if there was a way for him to add a portion of risotto on to his order for her to try when he spotted Nottingham striding towards the table.

'Gold' he greeted formally as Belle jumped to her feet to pull out his chair.

'Nottingham, welcome.' 

Belle handed Nottingham a menu, her gaze demurely lowered and left to fetch water for the table.

Nottingham was not the most exciting dinner companion, but the meal was a necessary sweetener in getting him to sign a contract that would allow Gold to transport his wares through Nottingham's haulage firm. Business was completed before Belle had even brought their mains, which left the pair to small talk. Luckily Nottingham enjoyed the sound of his own voice, and Gold let his mind wander as the other man happily sprouted his opinion on every topic under the sun. But the food was beautiful, the wine a perfect match, and Belle smiled at him each time she returned to the table, her cheeks rosy from the heat of the kitchen. 

Gold half watched as a large group of young men, probably students, were seated along the far wall. They only had two servers for their whole group, Gold wondered why they had been allowed to shirk the rules.

Belle returned to the table to clear their plates, balancing the dishes easily on one arm. Gold let his eyes follow her across the room. One of the students was walking towards her, she paused to let him pass in front of her, but he stopped, taking hold of her arm. Gold scrunched his fists into his napkin. The boy had clearly had too much to drink, it wasn't done to touch another person's server without permission. The boy was talking urgently, dipping his head, trying to catch her eye as she kept her head bowed. It was too much. Gold rose to his feet and limped as fast as he could to Belle's side. 

'What is going on?' He demanded. Belle looked almost close to tears, he hoped she didn't think he was cross with her.

'Sorry, sir.' She managed to free herself from the boy's grip, and tried to swerve around him, but the boy continued to block her path.

'Belle, please. You have to talk to me.' 

Gold was shocked. This boy clearly knew her.

Belle's eyes remained rooted to the floor.

'Let her past.' Gold hissed, the malice clear in his voice. Belle was his, no one else had a right to her attention.

Belle managed to slip past, almost running towards the sanctuary of the kitchen.

'Just who do you think you are?' 

Another of the students joined them, putting a restraining arm around his friend.

'Sorry mate, my buddy here has had a bit too much of the vino, no offence meant.' He said, trying to lead his friend away.

'Sir, please you have to let me talk to her.' 

Gold was too shocked to respond.

'Gaston, leave it mate.' The friend said, pulling him away. Gold watched as the tall, dark haired boy was led away by this stockier companion. He wanted to beat him to a pulp, for daring to touch his Belle. He wanted to get the management to have the whole group chucked out. Mostly he wanted to know who this mysterious boy was. Belle still hadn't emerged from the kitchen, but he was aware that some of other patron's eyes were still upon him so he stormed back to his own table, where Nottingham sat with an amused smirk on his face.

'Thought you'd never get a server, Gold, but you seem pretty taken with that one.' He laughed.

Gold ignored him.

Another server passed by the table and Gold held out an arm to make him pause.

'Tell my server Belle, that we are leaving.'


	2. Belle at the restaurant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thank you so much for the kind comments. 
> 
> Aside from the rookie error of posting the chapter twice, that went so much better than I ever imagined! 
> 
> So here's chapter 2, hope you enjoy X

I loved La Pearl. The second we stepped through the dark mahogany doors I felt the stress of the car journey fade away. 

Of course I was more than content serving Mr Gold and after the places I had been I had no business finding fault with my situation. Nevertheless, I did sometimes find it a little lonely. With my two previous owners I had been one of many servers, meaning there was always someone to talk to in the free moments. Maybe that was one of the reasons I found my professionalism slipping with Mr Gold. There was no one else with whom I could be myself, and although of course I tried my best, sometimes I just found myself itching to talk, to tell him about what I was reading or share a story about my day when he was out at work. Mr Gold tolerated these outbursts, almost to the extent that sometimes I dared to hope that he actually cared about my thoughts and opinions, asking me follow up questions. But of course that wasn't the case: my opinions meant nothing, he was just an exceptionally kind and generous owner and I knew I shouldn't test his patience.

That was why I liked coming to La Pearl. It was now the only place where I got to interact with other servers. Once Mr Gold was settled and comfortable, I could retire to the kitchen and chat with the other visiting servers and the permeant kitchen servers. The permeant staff were a good hearted lot, they lived a comfortable life outside of their working hours being put up in sunny dorms in the attic of the restaurant building and eating well out of the kitchen stores. Thus they were good natured towards the visiting servers, keen to hear stories of the outside world in exchange for the wonderful meals they cooked us. 

As I entered the kitchen, the heat and beautiful cooking aromas hitting me like warm punch, I heard my name.

'Belle!' Xavier, the head chef called, coming out from behind the counter to envelope me in a huge bear hug that sucked the breath from my lungs. 'I saw on the booking grid that you were coming, so I've made you something special.'

On my first visit to the restaurant, Xavier had given me a taste of his creme brûlée and I had told him (quite truthfully) that it was the best thing I had ever eaten. He'd swelled at the compliment. Since then, on every visit he'd slip me some little sweet treat during the course of the evening.

'Thank you' I enthused, as he released me.

'Come, take a seat.' He said an arm on my waist guiding me towards the scrubbed wooden table where the servers sat to eat.

'Not yet!' I laughed 'I haven't even given him the wine list yet!'

'Okay' the big man agreed easily. ' I know your guy likes his fish, so tell him we've got some beautiful dover sole in this evening.'

'Will do.' I said, grabbing a wine list from the pile.

I flicked through the wine list quickly on my way back to the table. My eye being drawn to an Argentinian white. I felt a small pang for Charles, the butler server at my first owner's country estate. He was a strict task master, but always fair and just. He took pride in training the young servers in his ranks. It was from him that I had learnt the art of matching food and wine. Mr Gold wouldn't need my advice, but I had my recommendation ready, just in case.

At the table, he told me to kneel. I happily sunk to my knees edging closer to his chair. Although arriving at the restaurant had relaxed me I was still a little uneasy about my reaction at the check point. I'd shown him up, and he had every right to be furious with me. But the hand the reached out to caress my curls showed me that I was truly forgiven. I couldn't resist leaning into his touch. His strong fingers sent warm tendrils of pleasure shooting down my spine.

I could barely form the words when he asked about the wine list, but swelled with pride at his praise. 

The evening proceeded beautifully. Xavier had brewed up a hearty soup stuffed with chicken and noodles that smelt divine. Once I had given Mr Gold and his business partner their mains, I settled myself at the kitchen table, listening to the good natured banter of the kitchen staff as they went about their work. Other servers came to eat and I joined in with their conversation. A young server approached the table, his bright green eyes shining in his pale and haggard face. He looked exhausted. I quickly scooted up along the bench to offer him a spot. He smiled gratefully as he was presented with his own bowl of soup.

'You've got your hands full tonight' commented another server. I realised the new arrival must belong to the large party sat at the back of the restaurant, I hadn't paid them much attention accept to notice the group's size. 

'Yes.' The green eyed server agreed, ladling soup into his mouth as if he was worried it would be snatched away at any second.

'How come they let them get away with not having enough servers?' 

'The other server's master is a Lord. I guess the owner didn't think he could say no.' He shrugged

'That's not right though, it's not fair on you.'

'When is any of this fair on us?' The server snapped, sending his spoon clattering into the bowl. 

The table went silent. It wasn't our place to question our lot. The brash sounds of the chefs crashing pots and pans did nothing to fill the awkward pause. Everyone kept their eyes downcast. We couldn't agree with him, you could never know which server was so under their master's thumb that they would share the conversations held in the kitchen. We could all get in huge trouble. But none of us would deny what the server said wasn't true. Being owned, being someone's possession, meant a life without freedom or security. We never knew when we would be cast aside, or gambled away, or punished or screamed at. We weren't free to pursue our own interests, we couldn't marry, or have children without the permission of our masters. It wasn't much of a life.

I mentally chided myself for being so negative. I had no right to complain. Mr Gold was more than good to me. He kept me well and didn't overwork me. He had even given me permission to use his library once all my chores were completed. 

'Harry.' The other companion from the large table had stuck his head around the kitchen door. 'They want more drinks, can you help?' Harry got wearily to his feet.

'Sorry.' He muttered to the table at large before hurrying away. 

I stood up too, and carried mine and Harry's bowls to the washing up area, wanting to escape the dark cloud that still hung over the table. It was probably about time I went to clear the plates.

Mr Gold gave me a beautiful smile and I felt my heart warm a little as I collected the finished dishes, arranging them carefully on my arm. Half way across the restaurant, I paused to let a customer past, keeping my eyes respectfully pointed downwards. I felt a pressure on my arm.

'Belle!' 

Gaston.

I couldn't breathe. I kept my eyes trained to the floor. I couldn't look at him, I couldn't talk to him. Mr Gold was sat behind me, I would be in so much trouble if he should see.

'Please Belle, it's me! Look at me!' He demanded in that same petulant tone I had known so well.

Suddenly Gold was at my side, radiating fury. Gaston finally let go of my arm and I all but ran to the sanctuary of the kitchen. 

Why did he have to be here? Why tonight? My back itched, the way it always did when I thought of Gaston. My heart seemed bent on leaping from my chest.

'Are you Belle?' Snapped a voice behind me. 

I realised I had been stood frozen in the kitchen doorway forcing servers to edge around me carrying hot plates. I moved to the side as I nodded, finally placing the dishes on the side.

'Your master says you're leaving.' He rushed off.

I knew Xavier was looking on as I quickly wiped my hands on a cloth, and straightened my hair as I pushed through the kitchen door. I should have said goodbye, and I'd never gotten to try his dessert, but I wouldn't keep Mr a Gold waiting. 

I saw immediately that Gold hadn't returned to his seat. He stood at the entrance, furiously scribbling his name onto the offered bill. I took a path around the edge of the restaurant keeping me as far away as possible from the section of the room Gaston had appeared from. My eyes darted around, terrified he would appear again, but I made it to Gold's side. He didn't acknowledge my appearance except to turn and stride towards the door, I scurried after him.

The driver was waiting. This time, the silence that filled the car felt sharp and dangerous. I sat opposite Mr Gold, fidgeting on the hard plastic server seat, I longed to be at his side but I knew he didn't want me. He ignored me, staring out of the window at the passing lights, a deep scowl etched on his face. I'm sure he could hear the pounding of my heart. I wondered what he would do. In our three months together he had never shouted or sworn at me, not even when I chipped a cup of his favourite tea set. Maybe he would physically punish me? I trembled at the thought.

When we arrived back at the house, I hurried to take his coat, hanging it away in the closet. I hesitated as he strode off towards the parlour. Did he want me to join him? 

'Bring me a scotch.' He barked, without turning.

I hurried to his bidding, pouring a large measure of the amber liquid into a heavy Crystal tumbler stored on the side in the dining room. I carried it carefully to the parlour, placing the drink on the end table close to his right hand. He had flopped down into one of the high backed chairs, his bad leg propped against the coffee table. I thought of fetching him a cushion but didn't dare move, frozen to the spot by his side.

'Kneel.' He reminded me quietly. 

I dropped heavily to my knees. I thought I saw him wince, as he reached for his drink. Perhaps his leg was paining him.

He sipped at the scotch for a few moments. Then finally turned to look at me. I meant to look down at my knees but his grey eyes hypnotised me.

'Tell me who he was.'


	3. Gold's Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gold meets a blue eyed server...

It had been a moment of weakness that had led him to the party. Normally he would avoid such gatherings like the plague, but the harsh monotony of his daily life coupled with that terrible nagging pull somewhere deep within his chest, a pain that if he was being honest had to be attributed to loneliness, drove him from his comfortable house and into the city for the evening.  
Midas was a business colleague, a necessary evil. Gold only knew the bare minimum of his ‘business enterprises’ but he had no wish to delve any deeper. Midas was a good client, who provided many lucrative contacts in exchange for a very reasonable discount of Gold’s wares, but he couldn’t help thinking that if he ever discovered the depth of Midas’ depravity, even his own sketchy morals would be so injured that he would be forced to cut all ties with the other man.  
Although Gold had made it quite plain that he didn’t care for Midas’ line of business, the richer man made no attempts to try to hide his dealings. The party invitation was one such example. He didn’t even try to dress it up as a ‘networking opportunity’, his incitement had been brief and to the point.  
‘Gold, you work too hard. Come and let your hair down. I’ve got some beautiful specimens just in, very exotic. Come and have some fun with them. We’ve got everything; beatings, massage parlours, everything you could dream of. And who knows, I might even persuade you to part with some of that closely guarded gold of yours and you can take one home with you.’  
Gold had never had any aspirations to own a server. As a child, he had made the decision that somehow he was going to rise up from the poverty he had been born into. He spent hours, tucked behind the sewing machine in his father’s struggling tailor’s shop, imagining a future of power and influence. He saw a grand house, a collection of all his favourite books, and clothes more like the fine suits he was tasked with mending than the rough garments he currently wore. But he never saw a server.  
For many people in Gold’s position, owning a server seemed like almost a necessity. A server cemented a person’s place in society, it suggested a social standing. It would prove that Gold had successfully left his miserable beginnings behind him, that he was secure in his wealth and prospects. But Gold had always found the practice quite unsavoury. There was just so much potential for abuse.  
In some ways the life of a server was more secure that his had been as a young boy. There was an expectation that an owner would keep their servers adequately fed and clothed. In his house, neither had been assured: meals were missed when clients were lazy about paying their debts, his scuffed leather school shoes, the only pair he had owned, had had a hole in the sole that let in water when it rained.  
But of course, things were not necessarily the way they were meant to be. Plenty of servers were starved or abused, and unlike him, they had no opportunity to escape their situation. And then there were characters like Midas, who delighted in the power of ownership. He used his servers in sick and twisted ways for his own entertainment, and for the entertainment of the depraved individuals he collected around him. Of course, he had every right to do so, they were his property after all. It was more the fact that Gold could never understand the appeal of forcing someone to his bed who had no desire to be there. He knew he could never take pleasure from such an encounter.  
Midas owned an ostentatious townhouse close to the park. Gold sighed at the huge lion headed door knocker complete with what were probably real diamonds set into the eyes. The whole piece was hideous. Before he had a chance to touch the offending article, the door swung open. A server with bleached blond hair wearing an overly frilly French maid’s outfit was positioned on her knees behind the door, offering him entrance.  
‘Good evening sir’ she purred  
He entered a tiled hallway dominated by a huge golden chandelier. Midas did nothing by halves.  
‘May I take your coat?’ the server’s hands seemed to linger on his shoulders as she helped him out of his jacket.  
‘This way please.’ She took his hand to lead him down the hall, hips swinging seductively. He felt like an errant school boy.  
He noted with disgust the reproduction of famous paintings lining the hallway. He could tell they were fakes as Midas had had the main subject of each piece replaced by a painted reproduction of himself. At the end of a hall there was even a version of ‘The Last Supper’ with Midas’ round face replacing that of Christ, the disciples a collection of scantily clad server girls twisted into obscene positions. Gold nearly left then and there, but the dainty hand let him onwards, further into the house.  
They paused in front of a set of dark oak doors.  
‘Master requests that you remove your shoes.’  
What fresh hell was this? Gold had not planned to spend the evening surrounded by strangers in his socks. Additionally, although the hallway was littered with end tables displaying hideous gold statuettes, there was nowhere to sit. With his bad leg, removing his shoes while standing would not be a dignified affair. However the blonde server had already dropped to her knees, guiding his hand to rest on her head enabling him to keep his balance as she carefully removed his dress shoes.  
‘Thank you sir.’  
‘You’re welcome.’ He replied automatically before realising that the poor girl had just been forced to thank him for the pleasure of removing his shoes.  
He cleared his throat self-consciously and gathered himself as the server reached to open the doors. He wasn’t sure what he might face on the other side.  
It was the smell that hit him first, the room was heavy with the sticky aroma of incense. His eyes adjusted to the low level of lighting provided by small jewelled lamps. The panelled walls were draped in layers of silks and velvets. Most of the furniture had been removed, replaced by large cushions and low tables dotted around the room. The cushions were filled by various figures, their sharp evening attire getting crumpled and creased on the soft seating. They didn’t seem to mind though, based on their languid expressions. What was left of the floor space was taken up by servers, kneeling on the hard wood floor between the cushions. They held drinks or small bowls of roasted almonds, lifting them to their guest’s mouths on request.  
‘Gold’ boomed a voice. Two server girls helped to heave Midas’ large form off of a large red cushion in the centre of the room.  
‘Welcome to my hareem!’ he cried, bounding over to Gold and offering a hand which Gold reluctantly shook.  
‘Isn’t this wonderful?’ He did not wait for Gold to agree. ‘Now the main fun will start a little later, we’ll all pop in for a spot of dinner in a moment or too, can’t have the guests fainting for hunger once the activities start! Ha! Now come grab a cushion, I’ll find someone scrumptious to bring you a drink.’  
‘You.’ He barked at a server knelt alone at the edge of a room. ‘Don’t sit there daydreaming, you lazy slut. Get Mr Gold a drink.’  
The girl jumped to her feet in a flurry of auburn curls and hurried away.  
Midas took Gold by the elbow and let him over to an empty cushion. Server girls shied away as he paid little attention to not stepping on their toes.  
‘You are going to have fun tonight Gold, I’m going to make sure of it.’ Somehow it sounded like a threat.  
Thankfully Midas left him alone as another pair of guests entered the crowded space. Gold scowled as he awkwardly manoeuvred himself onto the cushion, trying to find a position that didn’t strain his damaged knee, but still maintained a little dignity. He shifted around uncomfortably, too tense to relax back into soft embrace of cushion, quite aware that he looked absolutely ridiculous in his three piece suit, perched on a bean bag.  
He looked up to see that the server girl had returned. Although she kept her eyes respectfully trained on her knees, he knew she had been watching him struggle.  
‘Give me a drink then’ he snapped, angry to have been observed without the careful façade he always aimed to project.  
The girl quickly shuffled forward to bring the small glass vile to his lips. Unlike the other guests, Gold had no intention of being fed like a baby. He quickly snatched the glass away from her. In that moment, the girl lifted her head in surprise and Gold found himself lost in the most beautiful pair of blue eyes he had ever seen.


	4. Belle's Beginnings (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its taken so long to post an update. Isn't mental illness fun? spoiler, it's not. Thanks again for all the lovely comments, they've really kept me going. This is only a short one, but there is lots more to come. x

Time had stopped. Well not completely stopped, but it was definitely going a lot slower than was fair. Gaston felt as though he had been in his Latin revision lesson for several years now, yet the stern grandfather clock told him there was still ten minutes until his hour was up. 

He had no idea where his father had unearthed the wizened old professor who made his marks on the blackboard with agonising slowness. He did know that it was almost certainly meant as a punishment for failing his final exams.

He had tried, really he had, but the verb endings would never stick. It’s not as if Latin was useful for anything anyway. He needed to make up his grade over the summer or his university place would be withdrawn, however, he really was in no hurry to leave home. He was comfortable here, he had company. Sure a little more freedom would be appreciated, as would an increase in his personal funds, but the prospect of another three years of revision and essays held little appeal. 

The professor still had his back to Gaston, continuing in his monotone wheezy voice as he scratched with shaky fingers at the blackboard. Gaston took the opportunity to let his gaze wonder out of the window.

It was a horrible grey day, the sky heavy with dark clouds just beginning to drip onto the already soggy grass of the main lawn. Some summer. Some of his friends had been planning a week somewhere hot, they’d been quite annoyed when Gaston reported that his father would no longer pay for the trip due to his abysmal grades. 

Gaston noticed Belle, hurrying over from the copse of trees that hid the low brick server quarters from view of the main house. She was headed towards the kitchen door, taking the short cut across the lawn, her bare arms crossed over her head to protect her hair from the rain that was building in intensity. Gaston willed her to look up, to give him a smile and a wave, but she keep her head lowered as she hastened across the grass. When she got to the edge of the lawn she went to make a leap, jumping the boarder onto the paved walkway, but somehow her foot slipped, she went skidding onto the pavement and out of view from Gaston’s desk by the window. He gasped, jumping to his feet to get closer to the window and check that Belle was ok.

‘Master Gaston, sit down!’ barked the old professor who had been disrupted from his lecture by Gaston’s outburst.

‘But, my server…’

‘But, nothing. Return to your desk this instance or I will be forced to speak to your father.’

The threat was enough, and Gaston returned to his seat. Still craning his neck to see if Belle had recovered.

If the rest of the lesson passed at a glacial pace, the last five minutes were pure torture. Gaston tapped his foot irritably under the desk, willing the clock to chime to release him to go and check on Belle. He had to check that she was ok.


	5. Belle's Beginnings (Part 2)

At 4pm the grand-father clock finally began its merry chime and Gaston was free to go, he raced along the corridor and almost flew down the wide stairs into the spacious entranceway. He skidded across the polished tiles towards the kitchen. 

Belle was perched on the edge of the wide kitchen table, Charles the butler server stood in front of her, a first aid box was open on the table next to Belle.

‘Belle! Are you ok?’ 

Gaston rushed to Charles side, panting from his run.

‘I’m fine, Sir. I hope I didn’t worry you.’ Belle flashed him a small smile.

Despite her words, Gaston could see a large gash on her leg dripping blood towards her white ankle sock.

‘Do you need to go to the hospital?’ Gaston asked.

‘That isn’t necessary Master Gaston.’ Charles said gently in his deep voice. ‘It’s not a deep cut. Belle, I will clean it now.’

As he spoke, Charles had been applying appointment from a brown bottle to a piece of cotton. Belle nodded, and Charles applied the rag to her skin. She made no sound, but Gaston could tell by the way her eyes clamped shut that she must be in pain.

‘You’re hurting her’ he protested.

‘Almost done.’ Charles soothed. 

Belle opened her eyes and looked into Gaston’s face, it was as if she was trying to calm him. Gaston took her hand, and gave her fingers what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

Once the wound was clean, Charles removed a roll of bandage from the first aid box, he wrapped it tightly around Belle’s pale calf, hiding the cut from view.

‘I still think Belle should go to the hos…’

‘What’s going on in here?’ The imposing figure of Gaston’s father stood in the doorway, the dark look on his face matched the dark fabric of his finely tailored suit.

Belle immediately hopped from the table, she and Charles sunk to their knees. Gaston winced as Belle’s bad leg hit the stone floor.  
‘Belle’s hurt.’ Gaston told his father.

Gaston Snr. raised one eyebrow towards the two servers kneeling on the floor. ‘I take it, it’s not serious?’ he smirked unkindly.  
‘A minor cut sir.’ Charles replied.

‘Good, then you can both return to work. We have important guests this evening.’

‘But.’ Gaston protested, ‘Belle’s hurt her leg, she should be resting, maybe see a doctor.’

‘Belle?’ His father questioned, a threat barely concealed ‘Are you able to perform your duties?’ 

‘Yes, sir.’ Belle whispered, her shoulders tense, her gaze firmly on the tiles at her feet.

‘Then hurry and get yourself cleaned up and ready to serve our guests.’

Belle nodded and hurried from the kitchen, Charles turned towards the table and began the clear away the first aid kit.

‘As for you.’ Gaston Snr said, rounding on his son. ‘You shouldn’t be in the kitchen.’

‘But Belle was….’

‘I don’t care!’ His father shouted, grabbing the front of his shirt. ‘You are supposed to be studying, not wasting your time playing with your server. Get up to your room now.’

Gaston felt his face flushing scarlet but he left without another word, stomping his way up the stairs away from his father’s angry face.


	6. Belle's Beginnings (Part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to (try) and make up for such a long hiatus, here's two chapters. Sorry life bit me in the butt again!

Gaston had half a mind to be difficult and refuse to come down for dinner, but their guest tonight was Mr Midas, a business contact of his father. Midas always told extremely rude and smutty stories at the dinner table that made his father wince in disgust. Gaston knew very little about Midas, but anyone who could make his father look that uncomfortable was OK by him. He wouldn’t miss the chance to see his Dad get progressively redder and redder in the face, drowning himself in rich red wine as Midas’ stories got cruder and cruder as the evening progressed. 

Gaston chose one of his evening jackets, and wished Belle was there to help him fix his tie. When the house had guests, all the servers were called upon to work in the kitchen or wait at table, Belle would be busy down below, putting the finishing touches to the table. If they could snatch a moment alone during the evening, Gaston would tell Belle to join him later tonight in his room. It wasn’t fair, he’d hardly seen her all day. She was his after all.

Wanting to demonstrate to his father that he was still angry at their altercation that afternoon, Gaston was late downstairs, arriving just as dinner had been announced. His father, Midas, and a group of six other business men, rose from their chairs, abandoning their empty cocktail glasses. Gaston Senior stubbornly refused to acknowledge his son’s presence as they made their way to the dining room, but Midas caught sight of him and threw a beefy arm around his shoulder. The smell of liquor was already heavy on his breath. 

‘Gaston, my boy!’ he boomed, ‘finally, someone interesting to talk to!’

Gaston swelled at his words, grinning at his father’s obvious annoyance as they took their places at table. 

As they sat down to a starter of pea soup, Midas launched into a hilarious tale about meeting a politician in some sort of nightclub, Gaston almost snorted soup through his nose. 

Charles made his way around the table, pouring wine. He past Gaston, going to return the bottle to the waiting ice bucket, but Midas stopped him.

‘Hey! Give the boy a drop, he’s more than old enough’ he demanded.

Charles looked to Gaston Senior for permission, he shook his head.

‘Oh, Gaston, don’t be such a bore.’

Midas snatched the bottle from Charles hand, and leaned across the table the poor a healthy measure into Gaston’s glass.

‘There you go my boy, you’re one of the men aren’t you?’ 

Gaston nodded, eagerly raising the glass to his lips. The wine was rich and tart, and Gaston felt a warmth as it slid down his throat. He definitely knew he liked it.

As always, Midas dominated the conversation at the table, offering loud opinions on everything discussed. He also had a knack for steering the talk away from the boring analysis of markets and imports and back to his seemingly endless adventures in London. Gaston lapped it up. Before everyone had finished their soup, he had already made a decision. He would find a moment to talk to Midas alone and ask if there was any possibility of taking him on as some kind of apprentice, his life of business dealings sounded so much more exciting than the idea of yet more studying and revision. He would learn on the job, not in a stuffy classroom.

The female servers filed in to clear the plates. Belle had changed into her evening work outfit, a simple black dress with a frilly white apron, her curls pulled back from her face in a neat bun. Gaston scowled slightly, he didn’t like it when she wore her hair up, it made her look like the other servers.

The wine was making things a little fuzzy around the edges, but he didn’t fail to notice how Midas leaned back in his chair as Belle lent over the table, dipping his head to get a view up her short skirt. He nodded in appreciation and Gaston felt a swell of pride, Belle was by far the most attractive of all the servers in the house, and she belonged to him. 

‘How much for the red head, Gaston?’ Midas asked Gaston Senior, as Belle headed back towards the kitchen.

‘She’s not for sale.’ Gaston Senior replied, curtly.

‘She’s mine’ Gaston offered up.

‘Aw, then it’s not your father’s decision. Is it?’ Midas grinned ‘Want to make some money, Gaston? I’ll be very generous’

Gaston shook his head, while the lure of money was appealing, he wasn’t going to give up Belle.

‘Well, I can see why you’d be unwilling to part with her, she’s a beauty.’ He gazed at Belle’s retreating back, a glazed expression coming over his face, as if he was seeing something different to the rest of the room. ‘Too bad, eh.’ He finished regretfully, turning back to the table.

Dinner continued in the same pattern, Belle flashed him her brilliant smiles each time she came into the room and Gaston grinned stupidly back at her, he needed to see her later. After the meal was complete and the port had circulated, Gaston Senior taking special care to snatch the decanter from his son’s hand to prevent him from pouring any on each rotation, the guests pulled back their chairs and made for the more comfortable seats in the library. Gaston lingered behind the others and managed to still be in the room when the servers poured in to begin the clear up process. He strode over to Belle. Though he was technically his server, a tenth birthday present, she didn’t kneel for him as she and the others did for his father. He didn’t like her too, not all of the time, he didn’t like to conduct a conversation with Belle staring at his shoes; he wanted to see her face. She still lowered her eyes respectfully as he approached. 

He spoke quickly, not wanting to miss his chance of cornering Midas in the library to discuss his plans.

‘You’ll come to my room tonight.’ 

‘Yes, Sir.’ She replied, not daring to use his name in front of the others servers.

Gaston could feel the eyes of the others on him, though they pretended to focus on the table. He felt their disapproval, and could feel his face colouring. Not that there was any reason for him to feel guilty, Belle was his property, they were both of age, and it wasn’t as if they did That anyway, he just liked to be near her.

He hurried from the room. 

Midas was sitting in one of the tall wing-backed seats in the library, his ankle resting on his other knee, a tumbler of whisky hanging from his hand. Two of the other guests stood in-front of him, but Midas seemed bored by their talk, letting his gaze wonder, until his eyes fixed on Gaston who was lingering close by, waiting for his moment. 

‘Gaston, my boy.’ He beckoned him over. ‘Come talk with me.’

The other men drifted away as Gaston approached. 

Midas gestured to the footstall beside him and Gaston took a perch. 

‘Now tell me boy, what’s an adventurous young man like you doing hanging around here for his summer?’

‘I was going to go away with some friends, but my father wouldn’t let me.’ 

‘Well, you must be 18 by now, you should have told him you were going anyway.’

Gaston imagined his father’s face if he’d attempted that strategy, and smirked.

‘I don’t think he would have taken that very well, and I…er… needed him to pay.’

Midas snorted with laughter. ‘You’re right there, my lad.’

Gaston arranged his face into a more serious expression.

‘I wanted to ask you something, sir.’ He started

‘Shoot.’ Midas lent over the back of his chair, gesturing at Charles to bring him some more to drink.

‘I was wondering… that is to say… I have a proposition for you.’

Midas nodded his ruddy face, inviting Gaston to continue. 

‘Well I was wondering, if maybe, you… might have a job for me, I can be hardworking, and I have a good sense of humour, I’m good at…’ Gaston faltered.

‘And what sort of position do you see yourself taking on in my empire, Gaston?’ Midas asked over his brandy glass. 

Gaston swelled, he hadn’t said no. ‘Well maybe a sort of assistant, a protégée if you will. I could join you when you travel and go out in London and, I don’t know, take notes, stuff like that.’

Midas chuckled darkly, ‘I’m guessing your Father doesn’t know you’ve approached me.’

‘No, but like you said, I’m old enough, I can make my own decisions.’

‘You may be 18, but I don’t think you are mature enough for my line of work, my boy. One day maybe, but not yet.’  
Gaston’s heart plummeted. 

‘Chin up my boy, it’s not the end of world; there will be plenty of time to join the world of work. You should be focussing on having fun. Which brings me to this; I have a proposition for you.’

Gaston looked up from staring sullenly at his hands.

‘That server of yours, what’s her name?’

‘Belle’

‘Fitting.’

‘But I meant it before, she’s not for sale.’

‘Quite right my lad, a beauty like that is priceless. No, no, I’m not proposing you sell her, I merely wish to borrow her for a little while. I have some work coming up that I think she will be eminently suitable for.’

‘What sort of work?’ Belle was nothing more than a house server, she didn’t have any special skills, Midas could buy hundreds like her at the market.

‘I would pay you handsomely, enough for you to go on that little trip you were talking about. I would have her back to you within a month’ 

Gaston pondered for a few seconds, if he went on the trip he’d be without Belle anyway, the lads had decreed the trip would be ‘boys only’, so it wouldn’t matter if she wasn’t at home. She’d often talked about wanting to see the world, she was sure to see a little of it with Midas, she’d probably be thrilled.

‘How much would you give me?’

‘Ha!’ Midas barked. ‘That’s right boy, straight to the point.’ He scratched at his many chins, seeming to consider ‘£4000 for four weeks.’  
Gaston couldn’t help the gasp that escaped his lips, he’s expected a few hundred.

‘Deal!’ he nodded enthusiastically.

‘Excellent!’ Midas clapped his hands together. ‘Right let’s make it official then.’ He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a small leather bound notebook and a shiny gold fountain pen. He spoke as the pen scratched across the page ‘I, Gaston Pierre, do hereby consent to the loan of my server ‘Belle’ to Mr Theodore Midas for the duration of one month, lasting the 1st August 2015-31st August 2015 inclusive, at which date she will be returned to my care. Under this agreement, I wave my right to compensation should any harm befall the server while she is in the care of Mr Midas.’

‘What was that last bit?’ Gaston asked

‘Merely a formality, my boy. I shall take excellent care of her, but I cannot be held responsible should, say for example, her car crash on the way back to you.’ Midas smiled like a Cheshire cat.

‘I guess, that’s all right.’

‘Then do we have a deal?’ Midas extended the notebook and pen.

‘Yes, deal.’ Gaston agreed, scribbling his signature under the words Midas had wrote. 

‘Very good!’ Midas boomed, extending his massive hand to envelope Gaston’s and shaking it vigorously. ‘Excellent doing business with you my boy.’

Midas began to heave himself out of the arm chair, which creaked ominously. ‘Now, must just nip to the little boys room’ He swaggered away.

Gaston turned in his seat, grinning to himself, he hadn’t gotten what he’d hoped, but things had still worked out pretty, well. As he sprung happily to his feet, he suddenly found himself face to face with his father’s scowl.

‘You stupid boy, you have no idea what you’ve done!’


	7. Belle's Beginnings (Part 3)

His father had sent him to bed like an errant 12 year old, but Gaston found he didn’t overly care. Something about his father’s face when he had found out about Gaston loaning Belle had sent a shiver of fear down Gaston’s spine. He father was frequently angry, but this felt like something else. Gaston wanted to get away.

Back in his room and leaning back against his pillows things seemed much brighter again; he was actually going away, escaping this house, escaping Latin verbs and his father’s rules. True it meant a month without Belle, but that was hardly the end of the world. And Belle would be so happy, her face always lit up at any mention of travel. A month with Midas was sure to be more exciting than a month at home, especially with him gone.

There was a soft rap on the bedroom door.

‘Come in, Belle’ Gaston called

Belle crept around the door, closing it quietly and flashed Gaston one of her beautiful smiles. She was still dressed in her black work outfit, which made Gaston scowl slightly. Belle as always seemed to read his mind:

‘Do you want me to go change?’ she asked. ‘Sorry, it took a long time in the kitchen, I didn’t want to keep you waiting.’

‘No, wear something of mine.’

Belle went to his dresser and navigated the drawers easily, after all it was her who put all his clothes away. She chose a pair of sweat pants and one of his t-shirts and retreated into the ajoining bathroom to change.

When she returned she had released her curls from their tight bun so they cascaded down her back, making her look softer and maybe younger too.

She crossed over to the bed and settled herself against the pillows. Gaston rolled over into their familiar position, his head nestled against her chest, their legs entwined, her delicate fingers wrapped securely around his back. Even though she was so small, he felt safe and cocooned in her embrace. He reached up a hand to wind one of her curls around his finger.

They lay like that for several minutes, Gaston enjoying the closeness. There was no rush to share his news. Belle would stay there all night if he told her too. He was surprised when Belle broke the silence.

‘Gaston, can I ask you something?’

Gaston glanced up at her face, she looked unsure of herself, perhaps worrying her impertinence had annoyed him. In general, servers should never look to initiate a conversation.

‘Sure.’ He shrugged, he wasn’t like other masters, besides Belle always followed the rules, this must be something very important.

‘I’ve been reading,’

Gaston snorted, she was always reading. Once he found her with her nose buried in his chemistry textbook, surely a soporific tome. Though he didn’t much care for books himself he started moving books from the library (which was off limits to Belle) into his room so she could indulge her habit when he was busy with something else.

Belle continued ‘I was looking at the prospectus for your university.’

Gaston didn’t point out that it wasn’t his university yet- he still needed to pass the dreaded Latin to secure his place.

‘I read that they run courses for Servers.’

Gaston hadn’t known this. Formal education was not something Servers ever needed.

‘Really?’ he asked ‘what on?’

‘Lots of different things; managing a household, keeping a budget, food and wine, learning about customs in different cultures and booking travel’ her voice got faster and faster as she got more and more excited listing the courses. ‘And best of all they do introductory courses into Art and Literature and Music, so we are able to talk to our masters about important topics.’

‘I doubt you’d need the literature one.’

Belle had definitely read many more of the classics than he had, but maybe he could give him a summary of a few keys texts, that way he could impress his father with his knowledge.

‘The whole point is to make me a better Server, to be the best use to you.’ Belle explained.

‘You’re already a great Server.’ Gaston countered.

‘You are very kind, Gaston, but that isn’t true; I don’t know half the things that Charles knows. I know you aren’t going to want to live in this house forever and I want to be able to be the best support possible to you when you start out on your own.’

Belle did have a point. He’d often allowed himself to day dream of a swanky flat somewhere in the city, Belle waiting for him in the evenings, the smell of dinner wafting through the house but he’d never really thought of the practicalities. Of course in his fantasies money was never an issue, but if he was to have some sort of job (not that that appealed at all) it was unlikely to pay a huge amount at first. Someone would need to ensure the bills were paid, food purchased, things around the house fixed if necessary. If Belle could do all that, that would mean he could keep his fantasy.

There was just one snag.

‘You know I still haven’t got into uni.’ Gaston said dejectedly

‘I know.’ Belle petted his hair soothingly ‘but you will, I know you will.’

Belle’s faith in him sent a warm glow through his chest, even if he remained unconvinced.

‘It doesn’t cost anything extra, these server courses’ Belle explained ‘someone left a legacy to the university in order to support young men in their future careers by ensuring their servers could keep their house for them.’

‘So anyone can sign up?’

‘Anyone with a server, yes.’

Gaston could hear the question in her voice, would he agree? Of course he had no issue with her taking the classes. He would be in lectures all day and probably out socialising a lot of the time. There wouldn’t be much for Belle to occupy herself with in his university digs, she might as well go out and do something productive. But he didn’t want to get her hopes up when his place was still not confirmed.

He decided to change the subject. His news about her month with Gaston was sure to please her, and maybe distract her from her ambition.

‘I have a surprise for you.’

‘A surprise, really?’

‘So, you know how my father wouldn’t pay for me to go on holiday with the lads?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well Midas is going to give me the money I need!’

‘Wow! That’s fantastic’ Belle enthused

‘And all I have to do in loan you to him for a month.’

Belle’s hand stopped in his hair. He could feel her body stiffen. She didn’t reply.

He’d said it wrong. Belle was supposed to be excited. Although technically it was true, he didn’t like Belle to think that he thought of her as just a possession. Maybe he shouldn’t have spoken of loaning her in quite such blunt terms, though of course he had every right to.

‘You’ll get to stay in his house in London, maybe see a bit of the city?’ he offered.

‘Thank you, sir.’ Belle said, a tremor clear in her voice.

She never called him sir when they were alone, his plan had clearly shaken her. Maybe she’d miss him, he hadn’t thought of that. Maybe she was upset at the prospect of a month without him. Maybe she was just nervous, after all she’d never been away from this house, leaving was probably a scary concept.

‘It’s only for a month.’ He comforted, rubbing her arm.

Belle seemed to snap out of it, resuming running her fingers through his hair.

‘Yes, sir.’ she still didn’t sound happy.

Gaston suddenly felt weary. His father’s reaction he’d expected, but he’d hoped for more support from Belle. His exciting adventure was being spoilt before it had begun. He had half a mind to send Belle back to the server’s house for being ungrateful, but he didn’t quite have the energy to shift from her embrace.

‘I’m going to sleep.’ He announced, resolutely closing his eyes.

Belle’s warm fingers continued to slide through his hair easing away his tension. The wine he consumed felt heavy in his stomach and soon his muscles became heavy as he drifted off to sleep.

***

He awoke groggily. The room was still dark, it must still be the middle of the night. He and Belle had rolled away from each other in sleep and he now lay against the pillows rather than cushioned in her embrace. As he slowly came to, he realised he could hear a soft snuffling noise, the sound must have been what had awoken him. He turned his head to see Belle, facing away from him curled tightly into a ball.

In the half light from the moon outside, he could see her small outline shaking, the snuffles and sniffs were coming from her- She was crying!

Gaston had never seen Belle cry. She was always so brave, even when she was hurt, like earlier in the day. He was at a loss- should he comfort her? Servers weren’t really supposed to show their emotions to their masters, maybe she’d be embarrassed if she knew he was awake?

What could have upset her enough to make her cry?

Gaston felt uneasy as he thought back to his father’s words: ‘you don’t know what you’ve done.’

As little as he liked to admit it; maybe he didn’t.


	8. Belle's Beginnings (Part 4)

Gaston felt more than a little annoyed that Belle had not rushed straight to his side the moment she arrived back at the house. The first few weeks of her absence, away with the lads, passed in a blur, but once he was back at the house he found out just how much he relied on her company to pass the time. He been counting the days until her loan to Midas was up, storing up all the stories he had to tell her about the antics he had got up to in Greece. But she didn't come.

Gaston only discovered that she was back at the house when he overheard two of the cleaning servers whispering her name as they polished the oak bannister outside his bedroom. He sprang from where he was sprawled across the covers and darted outside to demand to know if Belle was back. 

The servers seemed reluctant to speak, which stoked his annoyance still further. She might have friends in the servers' quarters who wanted to see her first, but she was his and they had absolutely no right to keep her from him. 

After telling them as much, Gaston took the stairs two at a time, sprinting through the kitchen and out across the lawn to the copse of trees that hid the servers’ house from view. 

He had only been into the servers' quarters once before, when he'd demanded Belle give him a tour. They must have only been about ten at the time. One of the other servers must have told Gaston Senior that we were in there, because Gaston had gotten a lecture lasting about ten hours on propriety and appropriate behaviour. He hadn’t understood what all the fuss was about, and to be honest he still didn’t. His father owned the Server house just like the rest of the estate, why shouldn’t he be allowed there as he was everywhere else?

The one storey red brick structure had a slanted roof and small rectangular windows. He knew from his previous visit that the centre of the building was one long room, laid out with benches and tables. At the far end of the room was a kitchen area and doors to the male and female wash rooms. Light filtered in from a few small skylights, dust particles dancing in the beams of sunlight.

The two long sides of the room were lined with doorways. Belle had told him proudly (and he’d scoffed at her) that this server house was considered luxury as every server had their own room. Gaston had pointed out that each room was little more than six foot square and was missing a lot of amenities, a door for one. But Belle had shrugged him off. 

The server house was a hive of activity. As he entered, one of the kitchen servers scurried across the room carrying a large steaming pan. She entered one of the bedrooms, where two more female servers crouched outside, it looked like they were ripping up an old sheet. He could see that several more of the servers were gathered in the room. The atmosphere was tangible, everyone was speaking rapidly in hushed tones, the faces of the pot carrying server and those by the doorway were grim.

Gaston marched purposely across the bare concrete floor, towards the bedroom. Pushing aside the twinge of fear. So far no one had noticed him, all were fixated on their own tasks and discussion. But heads turned when he reached the doorway and couldn’t hide his gasp.

Belle was lying face down on the bed, clad only in a pair of white panties. The old laundry server that everyone referred to as Granny, knelt by her head speaking quietly to her, gripping tightly to the hands Belle had extended over her head. Another server was standing at Belle’s side, dabbing at her back with a damp rag. The pale flesh of her back was covered in dark angry welts, zig zagging across her skin. When the server lifted the rag, it came up red. Belle’s eyes were screwed shut in pain, her lip caught between her teeth.

‘What happened?’ he gasped.

Charles moved from the end of the bed, striding to the doorway and blocking Gaston from entering the room.

‘Master Gaston, you shouldn’t be here.’ He said firmly, his deep voice calm.

‘What happened to Belle?’ he demanded, trying to push past Charles’ large form.

‘You must leave.’ He countered firmly.

‘But Belle’s hurt, I have to help.’ 

‘I think you’ve done enough!’ he heard Granny mutter from the floor. Charles shot her a sharp look over his shoulder.

Gaston reeled backwards, had something happened while Belle was with Midas?

‘I’ll go and phone the ambulance then.’ He offered lamely.

‘Master Gaston’ said Charles steadily. ‘You know no hospital will see her. We can manage, you must go back to the house.’

Gaston rang his hands, stretching up on his toes to try and get another look at Belle.

At the sound of his voice, Belle had opened her eyes, it was only for a moment, but he thought he saw a flash of anger there. But it disappeared as she hissed when the rag was re-applied to her flesh and her eyes clamped shut again.

Gaston felt so helpless. He knew it was true, no hospital would treat a Server. He shifted from foot to foot. What had he done, letting Belle go to Midas? He felt anger against the man swell in his chest for tricking him and for hurting Belle.

‘Go back to the house.’ Charles repeated gently, ‘I will come and tell you how she is.’

Gaston had no choice, but to turn and leave. The bright sunlight outside burned his eyes after the dimness of the Server house. Anger churned in his chest. He would kill that man.


End file.
